


The Lost Days of a Mystic Messenger

by Lokiiwood (undersans)



Series: Mystic Messenger Lost Days [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersans/pseuds/Lokiiwood
Summary: A collection of one-shot stories to enjoy at my (and your) own pace. Each chapter is labeled with the story's primary character for you to find your favorites. Contains various spoilers.





	1. Saeran: On the Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saeran and some weirdo have one last night on the town before he returns to Magenta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep Story spoilers.  
> After Story spoilers.  
> \----  
> This story takes place during the beginning of Magenta's creation.

“Dude, whatever you’re on must be _strong_ shit,” she laughed – or barked – or neighed – Saeran wasn’t even sure what the ungodly noise was that broke and popped its way out of Jun-Hee’s mouth. Or was it Sun-Hee? He couldn’t even fucking remember anymore. She only mentioned her name once as she barfed it over the bar toilet. It was bad enough that she was following him around since then, dragging him along to other bars and ranting to him about her daddy, mommy, sister, and brother issues. The only reason he hadn’t knifed her yet was that her constant shrieking was at least distracting enough that the voices in his head weren’t bothering him.

“What was your name again?” She asked in no direction in particular, waving her arms as if she was still deciding if she wanted to be a hummingbird or a chicken. Saeran ignored her like he had for the past few hours, letting her guide him towards the next bar that glistened a few blocks away. Neon strobe lights dazzled and danced with the sky, he wondered if it was even legal to be so openly obnoxious.

“OK, this one is a little bit more high class than the others. You can’t make that face – yeah that one – or they won’t let you in,” Bun-Hee coughed. “Come on, give me a _totally not drugged_ face,” she whined, now. She stopped walking and put her hands on her hips, waiting expectedly as if Saeran was actually going to fulfill her request.

“Better, but definitely not good. Come on, let’s get in line and practice there.” She reached for his arm, but Saeran snatched it away.

“Don’t touch me!”

It was the first thing he had ever said to her. Saeran gasped, his heart beat accelerating as he imagined choking her out right then and there. He held his hands to his throbbing head and crouched down. The pain wouldn’t stop. He gulped. “Don’t touch me…”

Yun-Hee remained where she was, her messy black hair falling as she cocked her head to the side. She didn’t look surprised or afraid, instead just as eager as she was before he screamed at her. Saeran’s nails dug into his sweaty, bleached strands. He wanted to dig out his own brain.

“This place is packed. If you don’t want to be touched, maybe we shouldn’t go in,” she sighed. She rocked on the balls of her feet and looked back towards the line of club goers. “Boo, I wanted to go, too.”

As the throbbing subsided, Saeran dropped his hands from burying further into his skin. He noticed the familiar red tinge on his nails and wiped them off on his pants. Maybe one day he really would dig out his own brain. There had to be an easy way to escape it – easier than digging.

He looked up at the strobe lights again as they changed frequency. Run-Hee also turned, one arm raising to shield her eyes from what was a textbook definition of an epilepsy assault. It alternated between all-red and rainbow, reflecting across the faces of the people in the line and shimmering onto the tar ground and puddles. It resembled alternating pools of human and unicorn blood. It was enough for Saeran to heave right where he was. The familiar numbing pain erupted with every belch. Kun-Hee returned her gaze to him. “You alright? If it’s alcohol poisoning, I see cop over there who can call someone for you.”

“No!” He hacked again, strange green fluid mixing in the thin, cheesy bile. Like fire in the pit of his stomach, he burned all over.

“Yikes.”

“No cops,” he gasped out, holding his stomach for dear life. The woman shrugged in response.

“Hey, wanna go to the roof of the club instead? I know a way in!”

Saeran said nothing, pushing himself up and attempting to steady his legs. If there was one thing he learned over time about Fun-Hee, it was that she didn’t _actually_ ask things. She just liked to hear herself talk and she was some spoiled rich girl who was used to getting her way. Thus, Saeran’s silence was merely compliance to her. She was never really asking him questions to learn about him and she certainly wasn’t ever asking for his permission. Saeran wondered how she’d react if he merely stopped following her. She’d probably move on immediately, leaving him to his thoughts.

He didn’t want that.

So he continued this parade of delusion. Eun-Hee hopped and skipped towards the alleyway beside the ‘fancy’ club. The line of people extended past it and she bulldozed her way through, laughing out half-hearted “excuse mes’” as she blundered along. People glared at Saeran as he followed her path, hands balled in his pockets and around his knife.

“Hey, give me back my bottle, bitch!” Tun-Hee giggled and ran down the alleyway, the stolen, unopened bottle of alcohol in hand. It looked expensive. A tall man stepped out of line to pursue her as she fled around the corner, but stopped and put an arm out in front of Saeran instead when he noticed him.

“Hey! Your girlfriend stole my drink, so guess who’s buying me a new one?” Saeran slowly gazed up at the taller man, who grimaced down at him. His hand tightened around the knife in his pocket. He didn’t want to make a scene, someone would definitely call the cops. But Saeran had a loose sense of self-control. He maneuvered around him and continued walking in the direction of his guide. He wasn’t sure if the woman would even wait up for him, and now he was unsure what he’d do if she didn’t.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, scrawny!” The man yanked at the hood of his jacket. “You’re not going anywhere until my bottle is paid for. So call that bitch back down here if you don’t want to pay.” He yanked at it again. Saeran whirled on him, knife pointed. People in line gasped and backed up. The man let go, hands raised. “Really, man? What are you, crazy?”

“He looks high,” someone exclaimed.

“There’s a cop down the block, can someone get him?”

Saeran looked towards the voice that advised for a cop, then pocketed the knife. He took off down the alleyway, leaving behind the murmurs and scared voices.

But Gun-Hee wasn’t there. Trash littered every step, he wondered how it could be so disgusting behind the building that had such a clean front. That’s people for you. The frantic meows of a kitten nearby made him stop, shoes sticking to rancid, melting newspaper. Where was it coming from? He slowly sauntered forward until he came to a stack of cardboard boxes. He unstacked them, one-by-one, until he got to the last one. He bent down and unfolded the top to see the black kitten inside, shaking with bright, green eyes way too big for its face. He peered around to see the bodies of three other black kittens. This one was the only survivor. A feeling of satisfaction overcame him. Of course they were dead, they weren’t strong enough. This is what happens to the weak. This one, the green-eyed kitten, was strong. It was the chosen. It deserved to live, it was like him.

“I knew you’d be a cat guy!”

Saeran’s eyes traveled the wall until they landed on the distant figure of Wun-Hee, waving from atop the building that was right next to the club. “Come on! Behind the dumpster!” Saeran stood up and followed her pointed finger to the dumpster with hardly any trash in it. Did people really not know how to use it? Looking around, it seemed like they aimed for everywhere except the dark green compartment. There was no way he would be able to move this giant thing. What was that crazy woman on about?

“Just pull it, then push it back. Hurry!”

He tried anyway. It moved easily, much to his surprise, to reveal a giant hole in the wall. He moved to crawl through, then hesitated. Saeran quickly returned to the box with the kitten and gently moved it on its side. The kitten timidly stepped out and peered up at him. He nodded and returned to the hole, crawling through and pulling the ‘dumpster’ back to its original position. He found himself in a stairwell. This _had_ to be breaking a few housing laws. The echo of her voice commanded him to climb up, and he did. It was only a few flights and the smell of must before he found the unlocked rooftop entrance. The door flung open with a small push, its hinges just as broken as everything else.

Xun-Hee stood on the edge of the rooftop, humming and doing a small jig despite the danger. “OK! Now all we do is jump. If you fall, you like, die though. Can you see the jump or is it like--,” she flailed her arms and extended them to paint her picture, “--super small or wide for you, babe?”

Saeran raised an eyebrow and joined her on the edge, judging the distance. He backed up, and she copied him. “We can race for it. I have a bottle in my hands so if you lose, you suck.” She got in a runner’s position after a stretch. “OK! On the count of 3! 1!”

He ran for it, leaping over the ledge and sucking in a gust of air. A smile crept on his lips. His shoulder became his landing as he crashed into the granite top. He couldn’t even feel the scraping, ignoring that he broke skin. Vun-Hee landed more gracefully, but still hopped as she juggled her stolen bottle that threatened to slip from her hands. “Even though you cheated, I’ll give it to you for that landing. Ouch.”

“OK, _viola_!” She cheered, continuing on without a response from him as usual. “Over here, we can watch the most amazing sunrise.” Saeran looked around the rooftop, it was clean unlike the one they came from. Probably, he noticed, because there was no clear door to even access this space. The neon sign poking out over the top seemed a lot less bright from the back. Lun-Hee sat on a different side, legs dangling as she struggled to pop open the bottle. Saeran slowly sat down next to her, watching her dig in her bra as she took out a bottle opener to finish the job. She took a long swig, gasped, then chugged for a little longer. She handed it to him and he took it. Her bright eyes encouraged him to drink, and he hesitantly took a sip.

It was confusingly delicious. Saeran held it up to scan the ingredient label, quickly memorizing it and wondering if he could implement any of the taste in the elixirs. He knew he would never find the time once he returned to Magenta in the morning, but no believer was going to complain if…No, he thought to himself, the elixir was meant to be painful at first. It was for the best that it tasted and felt like death.

“Thanks for tonight,” Nun-Hee sighed, laying back and staring up at the stars. He took another drink, wondering what she was blabbing about now. But she sounded sad, unlike she had before.

“Sometimes I want to talk about my problems without someone trying to give me advice. I don’t need advice, you know? I know what I have to do, I just wanna complain and shit as I get through it.” She curled up and closed her eyes. Was she really going to sleep here? It didn’t matter to him. He took another swig. He wouldn’t be able to do this again – this night out, free. Saeran wasn’t sure if the bar hopping was meant to be a last hurrah or a celebration that Mint Eye would launch its recruitment program tomorrow. He gathered enough intelligence and installed all the cameras around the city, but…

He laid down, hands behind his head, and let the twinkles of the stars lull him into the first peaceful slumber he had in months.

When he opened his eyes, he was alone. The stars were gone and he had missed the sunrise Pun-Hee had spoken so highly of. Shit, what was the time? He needed to get back. Saeran pulled out his phone from his pants pocket, but there were no missed calls or messages from Savior. Curious. He started to sit up when he felt something fall off of him. A piece of rock and paper sat in his lap. Saeran picked up the paper to read sloppy handwriting surrounded by even sloppier hearts:

“See ya around, pretty boy!  
-Mun-Hee”

He stretched and begrudgingly stood up. He paused, eyes widening. Even though it wasn’t exactly a myriad of oranges and yellows, the early morning view from the club still presented a slightly cloudy, baby blue sky that melted into the misty green of the distant mountains and grayish city skyscrapers. It was still beautiful, it was still worth seeing. He took a couple steps forward to the edge, black jacket falling off his right shoulder to reveal his Mint Eye tattoo. A warm trickle of air transformed into a pleasant gust, ruffling his red and white hair. It felt…nice.

This was nice. The unused rooftop with this kind of weather would be perfect for a garden, really. Some people would pay to rent out and relax for this kind of view with a flowery space. The beeps of a nearby construction machine brought him out of his thoughts. Right, there was work to be done for Magenta so he should hurry back. But maybe…maybe there was still room for a garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mun-Hee was meant to be a background character in my "11 Days of Vanderwood" story but I've grown attached to her. So, she may show up from time to time in random stories, but she will remain insignificant so don't worry about her, hah hah. Consider her an Easter Egg of sorts.


	2. Jumin: A Jealous Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaehee and MC run a successful cafe and are having fun together, so why doesn't Jumin feel happy for them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaehee After Ending Spoilers.  
> \---  
> This story takes place after the events of Jaehee Route good ending.  
> Inspired by this fanart commission: https://llerose91.tumblr.com/post/157511265552/commish-done

Jumin Han was not a jealous man, he couldn’t be if he wanted to. When a man is born into privilege and continues to uphold his legacy with a proven track record of talent and success, it’s hard to care about much else. He had money, power, V and the RFA, the furry love of his life, and his father. He understood he was in a unique position, but all he had was sympathy and business advice for those who experienced emotions he couldn’t. Jumin Han could not empathize with people like Yoosung who boldly exclaimed what they were jealous of and when they were experiencing it.

But today, for the first time, he wondered if this was that infamous ‘green’ he was told so much about. He understood what it was just fine, but because it was a new feeling he still lingered on doubt. He sat in the corner of the coffee shop, pushing his black hair out of his face as he peered down into his steaming cup, mulling over the thoughts that seemed to be dripping like sweat into the brown liquid. The cup was elegant, slightly curved and a milky white with purple flowers carefully etched in the handle. It looked like an antique he might find on his business travels, so he was surprised to find something similar in a commoner’s shop.

His eyes looked back up as the table shifted and his coffee threatened to spill out. Yoosung plopped down, suitcase lowering to be beside his feet. He sighed out and leaned all the way over, face-planting his head and resting on the table. “Mr. Haaaannn,” he moaned out, muffled. “You’ll wrinkle your suit like that, Assistant Kim,” Jumin said, eyeing his young, exhausted assistant. “And it’s not professional.”

Yoosung slowly sat back up with a groan. “Ah, there she is,” he said, with a smile. MC approached the table with a tray in hand that contained a jug of freshly brewed coffee and clean cups that resembled Jumin’s but with different types of flowers on each one. She looked…happy. Jumin tugged at his cuffs. “Yoosung, Jumin, oh it’s so nice to see the two of you again!” She said with a laugh. MC placed down the cup with green flowers and filled it for Yoosung. “Jumin, you don’t like your coffee?” She asked, noticing that his was still full.

“No, it’s great,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. Jaehee’s shop had his favorite coffee in the city, and for the months after her absence from C&R before she opened the shop, he had craved it. And it might be the very reason he couldn’t bring himself to drink any right now. But what was he jealous – if that was even the right word for it – of? He didn’t care if other people had Jaehee’s coffee, too. He was a very generous man. So why did he feel so upset whenever he visited this place?

“Jaehee will be out from the back in a second, she’s excited to see the both of you. I’m going to tend to the other customers, hold on.” And like that, she was off. MC danced around the tables gracefully as if she was born to work in a coffee house. Jumin finally took another sip of his coffee along with Yoosung. The young man smiled out. “Ah, it never gets old. I didn’t think I’d come to like coffee so much, Jaehee must be really good!”

“Yes, she is,” he responded flatly. “Speaking of, I’ll expect the coffee bean business report tonight. How is it going?” Yoosung blinked. Unlike Jaehee, Yoosung was far more open about his emotions and his body language. It didn’t take but a glance to see that he was surprised. “Is there a problem?” Jumin asked. Yoosung laughed nervously. “N-nothing, Mr. Han, it’s just you never ask me how things are going, you usually just comment on the final product.”

“Is it really that unusual? Enough to surprise you?”

“Mmm,” Yoosung fidgeted his hands on the table, and took another sip.

Jumin dropped the topic, something about it making him uncomfortable.

“But anyway, um, yeah it’s going well. I’ll make the deadline, I’m just tired,” he said with a yawn, right on cue.

“Good to hear.”

“About making the deadline or being tired?”

“The deadline.”

Yoosung groaned. “It was a joke…”

“Ah, understood,” Jumin said with another sip. Jumin was joking too, but Yoosung didn’t seem to catch on to his sense of humor yet. He tried not to compare him to Jaehee too much, but he couldn’t help thinking about how Jaehee would’ve retaliated with a statement to match – something like “I’ll make sure to make a note of that,” or even a “That’s unfortunate.” Despite how annoyed Jaehee always seemed to be and how harsh he seemed to be with her, Jaehee still was the only one in the office to understand his humor. With her gone, he felt alone again. It wasn’t until she left that Jumin realized Jaehee had more value to him than just being in the RFA and working for him. He’d never admit it, but he missed her.

Oh.

That was it. “Mr. Han are you OK?” Yoosung asked.

“Assistant Kim, do I act differently in this coffee shop?”

“W-what? What do you mean?”

“Is my usual behavior altered when we are in this coffee shop?”

He didn’t know why he had to repeat the same question twice. Was the first time not clear enough? Yoosung and he would have to work on that.

“Well…A-ah! Jaehee! You look good!”

Jumin’s breath hitched. Although he knew Jaehee was growing out her hair again, this was nearly twice as long as before. Now all the way to her upper back, the brown-haired shop owner approached their table with a plate of assorted baked goods in hand.

“Thank you, Yoosung. That suit looks great on you. For my two favorite customers!” She laughed, placing down the plate. Like MC, she too looked…happy. He tugged at his cuffs yet again. “Oh wow, for us?” Yoosung said, eyeballing the goods. “Make sure she adds it to our tab,” Jumin said, one leg crossing over the other. “It’s a gift,” she said, hands folding. “I won’t take free goods from a new shop. Especially as your former boss, it’s not appropriate. You understand, right?” Jumin looked at Jaehee expectedly, but she didn’t give him the nod of acceptance like he was used to. Instead, she sighed and smiled at him. “You’ve always been so thoughtful. Sure.”

Never had she been so casual. It was strange, but Jumin felt warm.

“Assistant Kim, the documents. I will sign as we talk.”

“R-right!” He opened up the suitcase and carefully placed them on the table, away from the hot cups. So he was learning after all.

“Assis…Jaehee?” Jumin said, pulling out his pen.

“Yes?” She said.

“Have you thought more about the proposal?”

Yoosung’s eyes darted between the two. He brought the coffee mug to his mouth, hoping it would help him disappear.

“We’ve deliberated on a small expansion, but C&R isn’t our only option.”

“It’s good to hear your prospects are so bright. I assume you want more direct control and not security, then?”

“Not necessarily. I’ve learned there are opportunities to potentially have both. There’s no need to settle.”

“I’m sorry to hear the proposal isn’t optimal. Perhaps you should return to the offices and negotiate a better contract. I’ll arrange it for you, if you have the time.”

“Yes, if Assistant Kim has the time I suppose he will arrange it.”

If Yoosung brought out his pen, he wondered if he could pop the tension that bubbled in the atmosphere. When his wristwatch’s timer went off, he silently thanked God and wondered if he should become a Catholic, too. This job certainly made him consider church. “Ah, time to go! Thank you, Jaehee! But we have to go meet Driver Kim and head back to C&R, heh heh. I’ll go ahead and take the tab.”

Jumin and Jaehee continued locking eyes as she answered him. “Of course, Yoosung.” She bowed to him, then to Jumin. “It was nice to see you both. Please come again.” And then she returned to behind the counter to get their check.

“Mr. Han?” Yoosung asked. Jumin turned towards him. “Yes?”

“To answer your question,” Yoosung gulped, “The answer is yes. You do act different.”

…

Jaehee sat at the large, wooden desk of one of the various C&R guest rooms. For her, it was the first time she was in this room as a guest and not an employee. It felt strange to walk through the doors again, and it was embarrassing to see her former colleagues comment on how ‘different’ and ‘feminine’ she appeared with her business casual clothing and long hair. But she didn’t miss the dark circles that still encased their eyes. The room was small and infrequently used since it was designated for small businesses and C&R hardly dealt with those. She remembered hiding out here to catch up on work or sneak and buy musical tickets on her phone if they opened up during work hours. She smiled at the memory. It was bittersweet. Working at C&R had equipped her with the tools to build a successful business and now her former boss wanted her bustling coffee shop, now number one in the entire province, to work with the C&R Chairman’s new coffee bean business venture. It was a perfect set-up.

But she still hesitated. It felt wrong to have anything to do with C&R, anything to do with Jumin Han. A deal, no matter how beneficial it was, felt like she was crawling back.

She stared down at the paperwork before her. Although she had plenty at the shop, this was all too bulky and familiar. What she did at the coffee shop in a week was what she did in a half a day at C&R. She grumbled and wiped off her glasses. The C&R employee in her didn’t want to leave before finishing everything so she’d never have to set foot in here again. She rested her chin in her hand, flipping another page and marking another line. Fortunately for the shop, she didn’t need to hire any sort of lawyer or contract negotiator – she understood everything. She nodded and readjusted herself. Normally, her situation would never happen. A prospective client or contract would never be here afterhours. But she was a special case, and everyone let her be as long as she kept on her guest badge.

She nodded again. Yes, tonight she would finish it all…

All…

The…

Paperwork…

…

Jumin stood in the doorway, the moonlight of the open window the only thing illuminating a sleeping Jaehee. This was definitely against policy. Who let her stay this late? And alone in this room at that? Someone would definitely be going through re-training as soon as he found out. A soft smile made its way on his lips. This woman really didn’t know how to take care of herself, how was she running such a successful business? Perhaps MC was more capable than he realized. He walked over to the desk, fingertips tracing the documents that laid there. Always efficient. Knowing her, she probably wanted to finish everything in one go. That was just like her.

Jaehee muttered something in her slumber and he studied her face. She’d fallen asleep in the past, but never had she looked so healthy and peaceful while she did it. Maybe this was exactly why she left. Yes, he gave her more work than anyone else even when he assumed it would be impossible to complete, but that was because he simply wanted her to succeed and better herself. He wanted to create an unstoppable machine and perhaps he did – that’s why she was even back here in the first place, on her own accord and success. He was proud of her.

But oh how he missed her. And oh how he was jealous of MC who got to work with her every day. He shook off his coat and gently placed it around her shoulders. The circulation wasn’t that great in this room and there was no need to catch a cold over some pieces of paper. On a whim, he kissed the top of her head. Tonight was the last time he’d probably ever see her in this building again. He wished it wasn’t so, but this was the one thing he couldn’t have. It made him irritable, and he knew it. He sighed. He’d work on it.

“Goodnight, Assistant Kang.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to just be some fluff between Jaehee and Jumin, but you're free to interpret it romantically or platonic. ;-; Whenever I write Baehee it's always something angsty and sad, I'd love to write something else but the only thing positive that comes to mind is friggin' Jaehee after ending LOL


	3. Saeran: Bad Ending -1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unknown wants to recruit MC to Mint Eye, but she's an airhead and messes it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Story spoilers.  
> Deep Story (light) spoilers.  
> \----  
> This story takes place a week before After Story prologue.

Perfect. Perfect – everything was perfect because my hands had touched it. No one else can do what I do, and that gives me invincibility. _Gah_. I hold my stomach for just a moment while I wait for the hunger pains to subdue. So what – so w _hat_ my body itself isn’t perfect, it doesn’t need to be to serve Savior. All she needs from me, her most loyal and intelligent subject, is to bring back the party coordinator on schedule. Hopefully, this time without any interruptions from _him_. Stupid, useless flower boy. I feel sick just thinking about him.

Tch. I’ll be fine – everything is fine!

I swipe for another camera angle from my feeds. As predicted, there she is – the girl who will be the RFA’s party coordinator. I run my tongue along my lips. She’s wearing that outfit again – didn’t she wear that two days ago? I type down a note of it. I’m not sure what use the information will have but I’m meticulous about every detail. If I make a single mistake, I’m not worthy to be here. And that’s why she chose me, that’s why she cleansed me, that’s why she _fixed_ me. Yes, I am the most powerful version of myself when I’m at these computers.

I have a week until all the preparations are complete, so until then I play the aggravating waiting game. I’m not sure why Savior didn’t just pick a believer to infiltrate, something about ‘innocence’ or whatever. I guess the believers are too tainted to be believable coordinators to the likes of those fake charity heretics. It’s fine, this is better anyway. At the end of this, we’ll have another believer amongst us or even better a new toy. This brown-haired simpleton was the right candidate. She was still searching for a new apartment and job, and wiping out any information on her was extremely easy. Based on my profile of her, she was an understanding type – or in easier terms, an airhead.

I can’t help but chuckle. Oh, I’m going to have _so_ much fun with her. I watch her stand still on the curb now, head lowered. Poor airhead, she was rejected again from getting an apartment. What’s the matter? Could it be your documents aren’t checking out, almost like you don’t exist? Oh, I wonder how _that_ happened! Aha!

An itch crawls on my back. I can’t stay here, I need to move. Is she going to cry in public? That would be marvelous. I have to see this in-person. I check the clock – would that be alright, if I take work with me? If I leave now, I can tune up a couple of my cameras around the city that are a little fuzzy and still have time to catch her as she walks out of her fourth rejected apartment meeting of the day. Yes, yes there’s time. I grab my laptop and a couple of tools for the wires and throw them in a small bag. I rush out and lock the door behind me. I don’t fear any believer being able to use my computers or betraying us, but I just don’t want them to somehow mess up my camera feeds. They were a headache to install. Like, more of a headache than my usual. The time is crucial – I can’t afford to lose my party coordinator now.

I walk towards the exit, shoving past the turtles who don’t notice me. Idiots.

“Mr. Saeran?” I stop and turn around. I’m irritated, but I let them speak. “Yes, what is it? I’m in a hurry.”

The believer lowers their hood and identifies themself. They hesitate, but speak quickly. “U-um, I’m in charge of the special room. You haven’t given any new requests or orders in a few days, so I was hoping to see if there was anything else you needed?”

I can’t help but dig my nails into my pants. I hate this – I hate this – I _hate this_. I want to strangle them for even referring to that idiot flower boy. “No new requests! Don’t ask me again! Ever! Ever!” They back up a step. The shriveling coward dares speak once more, “U-understood, thank you.” They take off. Tch. Stupid, stupid, stupid room. I don’t care what the hell is in that room! I walk a few doors down and stare at it – I want to gag. It’s no different from any of the other doors on the hall but it makes me want to scream. I know what’s on the other side. Pink, so much disgusting pink because the party coordinator likes it. What is she? A princess? She’s nothing, will always be nothing. She doesn’t deserve to have colors or tea sets or large, comfortable bedding. What the hell was she going to do with all of that other than think she was important?

Idiots. Idiot flower boy. I try to calm down, noticing that I’m out of breath. It’s fine – what’s done is done, there’s no point in stripping down the room this late in the plans. I descend the steps at the end of the hall and make my way through Magenta. It’s the long way around to the car, but at least I won’t have to see the garden this way. Stupid garden. The only reason I hadn’t burned it down already is because Savior seemed to enjoy the daffodils and other frilly, colorful plants. If she thought there was no harm in flowers in our paradise, then I could accept it that they weren’t a useless burden. Besides, she had approved the garden in the first place.

Finally, I’ve made it to our other garden – a little shed of vehicles, all donated of course from the believers. They threw out most of their possessions, but having transportation for recruitment in the city and emergency evacuations was something our beautiful Savior had considered. I hop in my favorite piece of junk – the black car with broken back windows. The keys are right where I left them on the front tire wheel. I snatch them and fling open the door. It hurts to stay still sometimes, but with the windows down and air flowing, I can manage in a car. I slide in and close the door back, taking a deep breath before slamming the keys into the ignition.

It roars beautifully. Yes – yes – as the strongest believer, I don’t need permission to leave. I’m smart enough to know when to stick around or not. It’s not like I leave often anyway, I absolutely detest being around people. I take off down the mountain, turning up the volume every few minutes. It’s not loud enough. It feels uncomfortable to be left with my thoughts. I focus instead on work, there are five cameras that I need to tend to. Obviously, it wasn’t my fault they were getting fuzzy. It was surely the work of factors I have no control over – the quality of the materials I used, human interference, or animals. Perhaps something got hit or chewed through, but in the future I’ll train a believer to do maintenance for me.

Reaching the city is easy, I don’t need a GPS to find my way around nor do I want to leave any sort of trail to Magenta. I already memorized the majority of the layout a year ago when I plotted out the recruitment scheme. I park in a grocery store parking lot. There’s enough constant traffic and people in a hurry to not care or notice a car. I stretch and exit, grabbing my backpack and throwing the keys inside. This will be easy. There’s still two hours before the so-called party coordinator will be leaving her meeting with the landlord. But I feel strange – I need to go see her now, I need her tears, need to see her suffering. It can be a gift to myself for my hard work, but I know I should tend to the cameras first. I feel my eye twitch – when was the last time I had the elixir? Maybe that’s why I’m having these weird ideas.

Fine, I can compromise. I’ll fix one camera and then see her. I’ll go to the camera closest to her – a fancy bar’s parking lot security camera. It has a nice, wide view of the street and is a popular destination, perfect to use for Mint Eye’s purposes. So many lost souls to be found there, eager for salvation.

It’s a pleasant enough walk, no one is looking at me, sometimes even avoiding me. Good. Oh. Not good. The strobe lights of the club are already in full effect. How obnoxious, it isn’t even dark yet. Tch.

Right before I make my way around the side of the lot, I take out my phone and flip through my options – loop camera 6. I’d rather not have myself on any tapes. I proceed and look up at the camera that quietly protrudes out the side of the building, pointed down at the parking lot. Now what’s wrong with this one? The wires are intact, there’s nothing visibly blocking it…

I peer up at the bird nest not too far away, nestled between the building and the water drain pipe. It doesn’t seem to be related…

I get as close as I can, peering into the lens. Oh.

I don’t need any tools for this. There’s a smudge on the lens. I bite my laugh. I want to cry, I want to scream. I came all the way here for a light smudge. I was definitely sending a believer next time, never again would I waste my talents on such a simple task. I can’t reach the camera though, so it’ll have to wait. I make a note of this. I’ll have to find or make an anti-smudging material for all the cameras.

I check the phone clock – still an hour before the coordinator. Ugh. I’m not going to have time to check the next closest camera and get back before she leaves. Shit, shit. My fists are balling, I want to punch something. This isn’t fair – what can I do? Would it be alright if I didn’t work for an hour, if I just waited? Surely there is something productive I can do from my phone, right? Yes! I walk away from the lot, down the street before canceling the camera’s loop effect. I’ll start researching anti-smudge material, maybe even find something else to add to the cameras to make them run more efficiently. Savior will be pleased with how proactive and prepared I am.

I wander a little too close to my destination. I curse myself for my eagerness. I can’t have the party coordinator see me, or else it’ll be suspicious when I propose coming to Magenta later. The crowds are thinner around the complex, shit. I’ll have to stake out, then. Hm. I look around, there should be an eatery nearby. Does it have outdoor seating or windows? Oh, something better. There’s an alleyway that extends behind the stack of buildings on the other side of the street. I don’t like the taste of food or want people to remember my face, so this is the superior option. I tuck myself in the alley, perching myself on-top of a garbage can and opening my phone again to spend time.

It takes only a minute before I close it back. I can’t do it, I can’t concentrate. What the hell is wrong? Why can’t I do my job? I feel myself starting to sweat, was I fading? Was it – was it _him_? I’d rather die than to let him have control again. No, not die, I need to serve Savior – I have so much talent, so much to prove to her. If I die, she’ll be disappointed that I’m so weak. _I’m not weak_!

“I can do this!” I cough, I didn’t mean to say it aloud.

I fidget on my resting place – it’s fine. Once I see her, once I see that crying airhead, I’ll feel better and I can leave. I may as well get acquainted to her presence now, right? Wait, am I early enough to see her walk in? I see a brown-haired woman with the same outfit walking up to the complex. No, no way, the meeting started 5 minutes ago. I laugh, trying not to rock and fall over. Was she _late_? That absolute, bumbling _airhead_!

The woman – the airhead – stops at the door of what is surely the landlord. She just stands there for a few minutes before I see her hands go to her face. No way. Is this idiot crying? It’s your own fault for being late! That’s right, turn around, there’s no way you’re being picked. Even if you were on-time, of course.

She wipes her face and walks back the way she came, looking down at the sidewalk. I need to get closer, I need to see the tears myself. I jump off the can and walk on the opposite side of the street. This is dangerous, I admit. But maybe in her current state, she’d never even consider I’m following her. God, I need to be closer – I want to _smell_ the rejection dripping off of her. There’s a traffic light ahead, maybe I can cross the street and pass her. Yes, brilliant. I am so brilliant.

I pick up the pace to beat her to the traffic light, although I probably don’t need to because she’s so _slow_. But I can’t miss this chance, not when I’m so close. I shove my hands in my pockets. I’m twitching, tingling. I’ve never been so excited, my heart feels like it’s crying out with joy. It’s a feeling that reminds me of when I receive Savior’s praise. Is that fine? I’m unsure, but I’ll think about it later. I need to focus.

I wait for the crossing signal, eyes trained onto her. But, she stops before she even makes it to the crosswalk. What is she doing? Why is she trying to ruin this for me? Don’t wipe those tears, let me see them! _Let me see them_! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Wait, who are these two? No. You’ve got to be kidding me. I see the knife before she does, two men surround her in broad daylight. Are they insane? I look around, no, they’re not. This is a good time to rob someone, there’s no one but her on that side of the street and I’m sure a getaway car is nearby. _Stupid girl, just give them the purse._ But she doesn’t, she’s actually attempting a tug-of-war. She’s far dumber than I thought. Shit. Shit. She might actually get stabbed. That’s going to ruin everything – she’ll be in the hospital and I won’t be able to get to her or recruit her.

They aren’t going to ruin this for me. I ignore the confused honk and take off before the walking signal changes.

“Let her go!”

I don’t need to think – I’ve imagined this scenario before. My own knife is comfortable in my hands, much bigger than theirs. I’ve practiced stabbing in every direction so many times – I’ll do it myself to that redhead one day, it doesn’t matter if I have to do it here. I’ll have to move up the timeline. Shit. What am I doing? No, I can’t move up the timeline, I’m blowing my cover. But the knife is already pointed, the two men are already taking off without the purse. Everything feels slow. I’ve failed the plan, my mission, I’ve ruined everything by being impulsive. What will Savior say? I deserve to die, I deserve –

The woman.

“You!” I scream, now pointing at her. She has her purse to her chest, eyes wide and staring at me.

“Thank you, sir,” she says with a stammer, bowing.

What?

“You…You just…” I don’t know what to say, now. I shakily lower the knife. I want to kill her, but I can’t. It’s her fault, not mine. Yes, because she’d rather be stabbed like an idiot than just give up one or two material possessions, she had ruined all my careful planning. Doesn’t that mean she needs Mint Eye more than anyone? Maybe. Maybe.

“You saved me, I don’t know how to repay you!” She says, now a smile forming on her lips. My heartbeat picks up again. I’m furious.

“Why didn’t you just give them the purse,” I breathe out. It’s not as strong as I want, I feel like I’m whispering to her now. Why can’t I get louder? Why can’t she see how angry I am with her?

“I-I don’t know, I have pictures on my phone I don’t want to let go…I have important stuff in here I needed, I’m looking for an apartment…I guess it was kind of silly, right? They could have killed me. W-we should call the police! I can tell them how you saved me!”

“No!” There it is, the loudness. She takes a step back. Good, fear me. But I can’t leave now, I’m stuck. She’s going to report this to the police, there’s probably a camera in one of these shops or the complex they’ll use to see the incident – and me in it.

“Sorry…But really, thank you. I won’t report it if you don’t want me to. Can I at least buy you dinner?”

I’ve researched her thoroughly and yet I’m still surprised. I’m sure I don’t look like the most trustworthy person right now, and I screamed at her. I even have an abnormal knife, she saw it! Yet, she wants to buy me _dinner_? I could laugh if I wasn’t so afraid of Savior’s repercussions for the failure of the mission. No, this girl was dumb. There was still a chance. She trusts me, for some reason. I take a deep breath, trying not to shake and show the friendliest smile I can muster.

“That would be lovely. If it’s not too presumptuous, I have somewhere in mind, actually.”


	4. Saeran: A Quiet Day with Sunflowers and Torn Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saeran decides to have a private talk with the mysterious man who saved his brother. Fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Saeran Choi Week 2018!  
> This is for the Day 7 theme "Reunion."  
> \----  
> After Story/Ray Route spoilers.  
> \----  
> This story takes place a year after Ray Route's Good/Normal ending.

According to the RFA, he was doing well—as well as he could for the situation, at least. No one really understood what was going on, but they were still happy. Saeran fiddled with the vase of flowers in his hands, wondering if maybe it was too much. What the man needed after everything he went through was time and space, not something as thoughtless as well wishes and sunflowers. Although he had grew and arranged them himself, he doubted the average eye would be able to tell the difference from something one picked up after spending a few minutes in a store. He sighed, guessing he was overthinking it. Even if a thoughtless gesture, it was the least he could do and it might serve as a decent icebreaker.

The rest of the RFA only had positive things to say about him, commenting on how brave he was acting, although withdrawn. But everyone understood why. The nurses told the RFA to keep their distance, that they needed to monitor his mental state because the calmness he displayed was…abnormal. But Saeran understood that in ways no one else could.

He knocked and waited, wondering if maybe he was asleep already. The hospital’s visiting hours were strange, he wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary for the sleeping cycle to follow, especially for someone essentially in witness protection. He had seen him once already, a long conversation exchanged between him and all of the RFA at 2AM. So, this was all so new for him still—he couldn’t define their relationship and was unsure of many things now that his brother had returned.

It had been a long three years, and today Saeran would be alone with him for the first time.

“Come in.”

Saeran perked up and gently pushed in the door to see him sitting up, reading a book with no cover on it. At his intrusion, the man’s golden-brown eyes flitted up to acknowledge him.

“Hello, Vanderwood.”

Vanderwood nodded, returning his gaze to flip a page, before gently folding the tip down to bookmark it. His appearance was a relief—he was cleaned up now, his brunet hair pulled back in a loose bun, skin looking far more refreshed than the first visit, and the bandages wrapped around his head replaced with small adhesives. The book was gently placed on his lap and he sat up straighter in the hospital bed, eyes wandering past him, probably to see if there was anyone else with him today.

“I came alone,” Saeran confirmed, closing the door behind him.

“And you brought flowers,” Vanderwood responded, an eyebrow raising.

A shy smile lit up Saeran’s face. “Yes, I thought they might make your room a little more…bright. Lively.”

Vanderwood stared at the sunflowers, a neutral expression making Saeran unsure what to say before the other man let out a small hum.

“Thanks.”

With those simple words, Saeran relaxed. There wasn’t much in the room, a large card signed from the members of the RFA on a desk, a small box on the floor full of various books that Saeran noted _all_ had no covers, and picked around hospital food that still needed to be taken away by the nurses.

He went over to the small desk with the card and tilted it to make room for the vase that he carefully placed to face Vanderwood.

“How have you been holding up?” Vanderwood asked.

The question surprised him. In all their previous conversation, Vanderwood had never initiated anything. Sensing his hesitation, Vanderwood elaborated. “I mean, Saeyoung was always…so worried about you. How your relationship might be once we got out, if maybe you thought he had chosen to leave again.”

Saeran felt his heart speed up. Yes, he knew that already after speaking with his brother, but it somehow hurt anew after hearing it from the man who had been there to know it firsthand. He felt like he’d choke trying to understand all over again how much guilt Saeyoung had harbored for three, silent years while he was finally safe, in-love, and happy.

“I’m fine,” he decided on, not wanting to worry Vanderwood. The man was still recovering, and had been in far worse shape than his brother when they were rescued. Although they were both tightlipped on the details of what happened, Saeyoung had still made it clear that he wouldn’t be alive without Vanderwood. There was no need for him to worry about anyone other than himself.

“That’s good,” Vanderwood mumbled, hands busying themselves by flipping through the pages and eyes downcast.

“I know we’ve all said it before,” Saeran started, trying to push back the beginning of an awkward silence, "But I just wanted to thank you for everything. Not just helping bring my brother back alive, but…being there for him. Even before…this. He’s fond of you.”

Vanderwood hummed his acknowledgement, but said nothing further.

“I actually…wanted to get to know you. So I came alone.”

Vanderwood paused his absentminded flipping to peer back up. Saeran wasn’t sure if he was surprised or confused, but at least it wasn’t annoyance staring at him.

“Why?”

“Why?” He warily repeated back. He couldn’t understand how Vanderwood could misunderstand his intentions. “Well, because we don’t know you very well?”

Vanderwood shook his head. “I mean, why do you want to?”

Saeran stumbled over his words, his confusion amplifying. “Why, why wouldn’t I…You’re practically my brother’s best friend, you’ve known him so long, been through so much…I-I just want to know the people close to my brother?”

When Vanderwood’s doubtful expression didn’t leave his face, Saeran forced himself to continue, feeling himself start to panic. “Sorry, do you not like us? Am I imposing? I just thought maybe we’d all become friends.”

Saeran felt his cheeks heat up, he hadn’t expected this to happen. His words felt so lame now that he had said them aloud, and he was getting increasingly embarrassed.

“You want to be friends with me?” Vanderwood restated slowly, as if he couldn’t believe Saeran had asked.

Saeran exhaled and forced himself to give a more confident smile before he spoke. “Yes.”

“Alright. I can’t guarantee that, but sit here and we can talk.”

Vanderwood scooted over to the side of the bed and nodded for Saeran to join him. Timidly, he approached the bedside, nearly tripping over the box on the floor before he sat on the edge.

He glanced at the book in his lap and Vanderwood moved it away from them.

“Ah, I’m sure you’re wondering why all the covers are gone?”

Saeran laughed nervously. “Uh, yes…”

“Most do. I guess it is a little abnormal. But,” he sighed, shuffling to get more comfortable, “I like the surprise of not knowing what a book is about. It’s always more interesting to read if I haven’t been made what to think by a a title or image. It's the same reason I skip the forewords.”

Saeran tilted his head to the side, intrigued. “So…sometimes you won’t know if a book is fiction or not, right?”

“Exactly.”

Saeran got more comfortable on the bed and tried to calm down the butterflies forming in his chest. It felt natural to be here, to talk like this. Vanderwood seemed strangely comfortable with him, despite how they first met. He would have to ask Saeyoung about it later, but for now… “So, w-what was it like? When you and my brother first started working together?”

A sharp emotion flashed across his eyes and Saeran felt goosebumps prick on his skin, wondering if perhaps that was the wrong thing to ask, before Vanderwood let out a soft laugh. It was bitter, but it was genuine—memories were there, good and bad.

“Oh, that’s…many stories.”

Saeran glanced over at his flowers, tall, bright, and leaning towards them. They gave him confidence, and he beamed in Vanderwood’s direction.

“I have all day.”

 


End file.
